


Past Tense

by gyromitra



Series: Reaper76Week stuff [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Word salad, day 4: Vacation/Time Off, reaper76week, since it gained an overarching plot - believe me Jack's a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9375548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: Morning light filters through curtains grey with a decade of no washing and Reaper finds himself staring down at the back of the man under the covers, somehow rehashing a ghost of a conversation he had years ago, a lifetime away.Continuation of Memories (day 1) & Cooperation (day 3).





	

Morning light filters through curtains grey with a decade of no washing and Reaper finds himself staring down at the back of the man under the covers, somehow rehashing a ghost of a conversation he had years ago, a lifetime away.

“I’m not getting up for bland-ass rations,” Soldier mutters and for a fleeting moment Reaper considers just ripping the blankets from him – yet he abstains, just like he had then.

“I’m not cooking for you, Soldier,” he grinds out. The man rolls over and then sits up, hand rubbing his face and chasing the sleep away.

“Would probably kill me. But I know what you can do,” Reaper blinks and waits with growing dread for his next words. “Since I’m tight with money and your finances are undoubtedly in better shape than mine, you can buy me a dinner.”

“Hardly inconspicuous, Soldier.” The vigilante rolls his shoulder, other hand massaging some ache, and then stands up, steps taking him to small bathroom.

“Like anyone’s going to take notice of an old guy,” comes the dismissive retort over the sound of running water. “And probably whatever’s that you’re hiding under that hood of yours. For all I know you could have a pair of knockers under all that kevlar.”

‘ _Like anyone’s going to take notice of a blonde jock and probably his boyfriend_ ,’ plays in the back of his head and Reaper takes off his mask with a weary sigh.

“Huh, not bad,” blue eyes stare at him from the doorway with a substantial lack of recognition. Lack of any reaction. Reaper knows there is something more at play than apparent memory loss – if it can even be called that with the vigilante retaining his skills, speech patterns, quirks – a deep-rooted sort of self-delusion maybe. _The man had not recognized his own damn face in the mirror_. Not that it makes any sort of difference. “Just do something about your clothes.”

Half an hour later Reaper has to admit the vigilante, now stuffing his face with potatoes, had a point. With the festival two days away and a lot of outsiders filtering in on occasion, no-one pays them more attention than as a potential source of income, and the man does not stand out a lot, not with those outdated sunglasses and a baseball cap on his head. And a fanny pack, of all things.

“I’m guessing. Since your pet hacker gutted them out recently, you want me to hit Lumerico, because you believe there’s something inside they couldn’t have gotten, because it’s off grid, or physical.”

“Sharp as always.”

“Four, five days then, until the party is in full swing and security grows lax.” Soldier chuckles. “Don’t give me that look, you have them on high alert now and Los Muertos move erratically. I’ll gladly take a few days off, you’re paying though.”

‘ _You’re paying Gabe_ ,’ sounds somewhere in a memory. Few days can’t hurt, that much, Reaper decides.


End file.
